ubi amor, ibi infernum
by ideay
Summary: Walter recites his own tragic love story. "She was my Delilah, and then my Tamar; this is how I fell, and I welcomed the impact." — #seras/walter #dark!walter


**A/N: **_This combines the canonicity of the Gonzoverse + OVAs, __but leans more toward the anime__.__ Heavily inspired by Silvershine's __Nymph__ on FF __and __Lolita__ by Vladmir Nabovok__._

**_n__ote; _**_this is originally part of a walter/seras prompt collection posted on my Ao3 account titled 'Serendipitous'. It's under the prompt of 'Hope'._

* * *

_**ubi amor, ibi infernum (I)  
**__where there is love, there is hell_

**I HAD MY **reasons for my my betrayal; I had long made my mind before you came into the picture. But your hardened gaze tells me that's not what you're here for; I've raised you, in case you forgotten. I can read you like a book, even as I am now, chained, at your mercy and all within this new body; I was the one who _taught _you how to conceal your expressions. So please, do not insult me by trying to use them on me; I'm still very much your elder, despite these circumstances.

Oh. You don't like my _young _voice? I must admit, this will take some getting used to; I've only had so much time to come to terms with it myself, but I'm not complaining.

But you're not here for the sake of _my _well-being, are you?

You're here because of _her. _You want answers; I know you do. But I don't think you would truly understand unless I told you the entire story in detail; you believe me to be mad and deprived of whatever morality I had. You wouldn't be entirely wrong, although, you're not entirely right, either. That damn Doctor was a farce, just as I knew he was, and he left his toy with so many cracks and faults. But I am not the same person you've come to know; I never was. You don't have even the slightest clue despite what you're blasted pet has told you. Don't try to argue with me; I've never been a _morally decent _person, I just got better at _hiding _it. Even now, I can see you don't _want _to believe me. You still hold the senile old man I used to be in high regard; you still want me to be him.

I'm sorry to disappoint you.

So let me put it to you this way; if _you _are wanting to be naive to my treason, my true person, can you imagine just how naive _she _was? _Still _is? Even now? It's an astounding amount. I don't blame you for being concerned. You chuckle at even the sheer possibility because you don't think a horrid creature like me is capable of such emotions. I hadn't either. But I've been doubting myself for nearly six decades. I doubted just a bit more when she arrived, and I doubted myself in the last second before the werewolf and fat-man recruited me again.

You're wondering when it'd started.

No, not my betrayal, but the mutual involvement between Seras and I; you just can't digest the fact I hadn't completely manipulated her into this. Perhaps I did; I _like _to think I did, but would you believe me if I said that _she_ manipulated me as well? No, of course you wouldn't. In reality, we've done nothing but underestimate her from the very beginning. She's kind, but she is no fool; she's soft, but she's strong when it matters most. She is sincere, but she can be cunning.

Yes, you heard that correctly.

She's a nymph; she's too pure to be called a vixen, succubus or even a minx, because she's nothing else if not genuine. When she cares about someone, it isn't unfounded or with some hidden motive; she's too genuine, she's _kind. _A stupid girl. A stupid, kind and _beautiful _woman that has no damn business being involved with Hellsing. How Alucard managed to turn her still eludes me. You look at me in disdain. You don't disagree with me, but you're not impressed with what I've said thus far; I told you, didn't I? In order for you to understand, you need to know everything from the beginning.

Because how the hell can someone like her ever get involved with someone like me? A nineteen year old vampiric girl with a near seventy year old traitorous scum. It sounds so improper and scandalous when put into such words; I don't disagree with you. She's a fool.

But then, I'm the even bigger fool. That's how I got into this mess.

In reality, this all started even before the war happened, even before the Valentine brother's attack. You look disgusted and surprised because that implies that there was fraternization when I still had my old body. You would be correct; that's quite alright, I understand.

So, then. Let me tell you _everything_; let me tell you how it all began.

**( &. )**

I am slightly bemused at Alucard's so called _whim, _but I can already tell just how _unfit _she is to be here when I first even entered her room to provide her with her new uniform. It's amusing at first, most certainly; but the more I interact with this girl, the more I am left feeling almost _pity _for her.

She approaches me on an early weekday morning as I begin my routinely duties, starting with the dusting; I vaguely wonder if I should reprimand her for being awake, but I abandon the notion. Without looking, I address her, "Good morning, Miss Victoria; can't sleep?"

The air sparks of nervousness; the girl is a distraught mess and she doesn't even realize it. "Good morning Walter," I get the impression she bites her lip; I am meticulous in my task, and I want to be thorough with the duster. Fortunately, she doesn't take my lack of physical attention as rudeness; something tells me, actually, that she welcomes it, even. "And well… no, not really," she awaits my response, probably expecting me to pass harsh judgment; I can hear the distinct relief in her voice when I provide none, "I thought transitioning to this kind of lifestyle would at least be easier regarding my more _human_ habits."

It's only been a couple of weeks since she's arrived, though. Where she gained the underlying notion that _transitioning _would be _easy _is lost on me, but it doesn't take me long to realize it's more of a self-imposed type of pseudo determination that she's no doubt tried to implant on herself since she's arrived. I blame Alucard. Regardless, self-pity doesn't do much in this house and I tell her such.

She shrugs. "I just figured, at least from the bed if anything," having coincidentally finished with the antique vase, I turn to her with an eyebrow raised. This wouldn't be the first time I've looked at her with unimpressed, albeit piqued, observation. Yet, like the first time, it doesn't fail to make her flustered. "I-I mean, because it's… quite elegant. Comfortable." I am not exactly sure how to respond to her dribble, so I let out a slight _hm. _

Later on, according to her, she would inform me that she thought it was because I was judging her, belittling her; not an incorrect statement in its' entirety, but not completely accurate. I am _curious _about her and all that I ask myself is _What the bloody hell had Alucard been thinking? __Bringing someone like her into this lifestyle?_

She attempts to save face; I decide to be nice. Staring is rude, after all, and it's not like I don't remember being looked down upon by those who thought I was nothing more than a brat. Even if, of course, our circumstances and personalities are _quite _different. She has a natural charm to her; it's _sincere _and an almost comical to see such a thing in this house. She's good at masking her sorrow with smiles and cheer. It's pitiful, but it's also brave. She ends up following me around for about an hour, even helps me with some of the smaller tasks. We make small talk and she even thanks me for providing a listening ear. It takes me an unusually long time to figure out the reason for her apparent insomnia; she is lonely. It's only logical; based on my background check of this girl, she's always been endearingly coddled. She was even referred to as _kitten _as a term of endearment by her squadron on the force.

It's not hard to see why.

Before we part ways, something overcomes me and I speak without even thinking. "Miss Victoria… If you ever wish to have a chat, whether it's general questions about Hellsing or even vampirism, I could offer assistance. If you don't mind talking to an old John Bull, that is." She smiles at me, right then; I've never been a particular fan of poetry or romantic literature, but I swear, seeing that smile is like watching the sun emerge after a severe storm. It's not contagious, but it's peculiar, and I appreciate its' charm.

"Thank you Walter; I appreciate that immensely."

I give her a small smile of my own in return and nod my head, "Of course Miss Victoria; it's a pleasure to serve." I now think that's where _my _interest sparked, even if I refused to see it. It was the prelude to another revelation that would occur later. Though for her, I can't say in confidence.

It's from that small encounter that more tends to happen. All by chance, of course. My senile old mind isn't as cunning as it used to be, nor do I have an outward interest in pursuing such things.

After performing dutiful maintenance on her _Harkonnen, _she thanks me. Again, _genuinely_; it makes me chuckle under my breath, and she regards me curiously, and asks, "What's so funny?"

I shake my head, "I hardly hear a word of gratitude these days; it's strange hearing it without a sarcastic bite, is all." In all honesty, it really doesn't bother me. I am, after all, the butler of the house; it's all part of the job. She doesn't seem to take kindly to the fact, much to my amusement.

"Why wouldn't you be thanked? You do so much for everyone," I reiterate her the fact that I've been doing this for nearly sixty-five years; the novelty of gratuity becomes exactly that. The answer doesn't seem to please her, and she shakes her head ever so slightly. "Just because nobody does it doesn't they mean they shouldn't; I can only imagine the bloody hell you've put up being the butler in the first place all this time." She has no idea the sheer weight imaginable of that fact, but I let her think she does just to see what else she says, and what she does say is no less than unexpected. "Well, even if Sir Integra or Master or even the soldiers don't, _I _intend to keep saying _thanks_. It's the very least I can do."

She gives me a soft smile, and there's just something _right _below the surface that I overlook. It's almost cheeky; it's _mischievous. _The possibility doesn't make sense to me in the moment, so I brush it off as it being my old age finally catching up to me.

I smile at her with a tilted head, letting her know that there's no need to work up such a fuss over something so trivial. It wouldn't be until later that night, as I thought of her words in passing that I realize… it _does_ feel rather nice to be thanked; even for cleaning a weapon or pouring tea. The sentiment doesn't leave me; I feel almost humbled that she would take special exclusivity in _thanking _me, of all things.

I really _am _old if I'm appreciating something like this. I keep these thoughts to myself well, and soon she approaches me again all the while giving me a rather peculiar gaze. She needs help with a rather delicate topic, one which, frankly, she hadn't wanted to approach you or Alucard with. So she deemed me as the most viable option. This is how we end up in the library not long after her plea. Yet, I can't shake the feeling that she's exaggerating this whole bit just a tad. I don't know _why_ and honestly, I feel a little guilty for assuming such a thing from such a girl.

But like I said, we _all _underestimated her.

I'm currently trying to feel the spines of the book until I happen upon the correct one. I know the library and its contents by heart, having been in here so many times myself. When I finally do, I pull out and dust the cover gingerly. "Walter Sir, are…. Are you indeed _sure_ that I'm going to find what I need in here? In a book, no less?" She looks around the room, as if scared of being caught; I remain calm and grow rather amused at her nervous movements. It's ironic that she has such a rabbit-like exterior. I smirk just ever so, and I do believe that unsettles her further. "It's not _funny_."

"Forgive me, Miss Victoria; I truly don't mean any harm," and I mean it, "Wondering about your… new vampiric anatomy and sensations is nothing to be ashamed about." I hold out the book for her, but she refuses to even touch it until I acknowledge her in the eyes.

Her eyes are wide as a doe's and her hands are clasped together in requesting mercy, "Just _promise _me you won't tell Alucard or Sir Integra," I initially have no problem telling her what she wants to hear just to mention to either of you later, but before I can make such a decision, whether because she _knows _me, which is preposterous, or because she's determined to keep this in secrecy, Seras takes a step forward. "_Please, _Walter, I _mean _it. I know the lot of you are awfully close but I'm _begging _you. _Please _don't tell… _anyone_." It really _does _look like she wants to cry, and telling you this now honestly makes me want to laugh; she truly _is _something else.

But in the moment, as old and worn and still very much _human _as I am, can't help but have a spark of… _something _in my chest as a reaction. Confusion? Bewilderment? Concern? "Miss Victoria, truly, it's nothing to be ashamed of at all. It's only natural you're curious. There's no shame in wondering whether you'll experience heightened sexua—"

I am _almost _shocked at the fact that she's interrupted me by placing her gloved hand on my mouth. The impact hadn't been hard at all, but it had been sudden; I have to take a moment to breathe through my nose because her thumb is wedged just between and through my lips, rendering me, literally, speechless.

"Please _don't _say it out loud." I can only nod my head once, and as if ashamed at her rashness, she takes a moment to breathe out a sigh through her nose, a most unneeded act now as a vampire, and she steps back. "Look… I just..." she gestures to herself, "I don't… I've _never_—" obviously, but I refrain from saying anything, "I mean… I don't want to start _now_. Which is to say, I guess… if I _do, _I don't want it to be solely because of… _this_."

"And why ever not?" What my goal is here remains a mystery to me. Why am I spending time trying to convince a young _vampira _to be more open about her sexuality? I get the feeling I've past my boundaries, and it isn't my intention to be an intrusive pervert, but I'm curious. "You're at the peak of your youth, Miss Victoria; why _not _enjoy your moment?" I smile at my own joke. She doesn't find it too funny.

I know youths these days are far more open about their sexual conquests and experimentation. I see no reason why such a modern young lady feels even remotely prudish and _shy _about such a topic. You'd expect that from a child who was raised either religiously or as a monk. She is neither. I tell her so.

She only deflates, as if I've failed to understand something.

"I'm _assuming _if my…" much to my amusement, she sighs, as if it pains her to talk about the subject. In retrospect, talking about sex with your employer's butler is hardly something to leap for joy about, I suppose. "If my _l-libido _acts up because of what I am, then surely… other feelings start to surface and heighten because of it. Or, well… the opposite. Things can get rather messy."

"...I see," I say, not really thinking about _what _in particular I see or what she's _trying _to get me to see. For once in a long time, I simply feel daft, _because I don't understand _and I understand a lot less why she's looking to me as if she's asking something of me.

Aging truly is a decay on the mind. You do see now why I couldn't _stand _growing even a year older, don't you?

I swear that her eyes flash upwards for a mere moment at my lack of response, before she gingerly peels the book away from my hands. "Thank you Walter. I appreciate your help." Somehow I feel that, this time, her gratitude is an obligation for her rather than genuineness. "I know you'd rather be anywhere else than humoring the rookie with her virgin problems."

Regardless of how she means it, she still smiles at me like she's trying to placate an old man. I don't like it. "Nonsense, Miss Victoria; I'm always available for your convenience." I bow as the butler does, and when I look up, she's regarding me with a tilted head and a curious gaze.

"Truly?" she chuckles behind a modest hand, "I'll have to remember that, then. Will you be available to me even when I need a kiss goodnight?"

Where that line came from is beyond me, but I know that based on her light laugh and blush, she means to make a joke. She's not the best at those. Without falter, I respond promptly, "Even then." It's quiet for a few moments, and she is clearly nonplussed.

For a second, I feel _regret _for humoring her; it's not in my character, but as I've said, I'm nothing else if not _in curiosity _with this girl. I'm made to do things that I haven't before, purely with the intent of eliciting a reaction from her.

There's that glint in her eyes again, and it's familiar; I recognize it as an enemy willing to take on a challenge, not unlike how Jan Valentine would regard me in battle in the coming weeks. But it's gone as soon as it comes and she shrugs, her delicate smile soft and sincere yet again. "I'll keep that in mind."

And this, perhaps, is where it really begins?

I'm not simply her employer's butler anymore, I am a _challenge _to overcome. Later I would learn that what had transpired wasn't just a friendly conversation; it was a _trap, _and I foolishly delivered the proverbial green light. I am sure of this now more than ever, because what occurred the next time we met is something that not even the blasted chip could erase from my memory.

Not even when I tried to destroy it myself.

One rainy night, while you were debriefing Alucard on a solo mission, I tended to stocking inventory on the blood supply. I knock on her door with my free hand, "Miss Victoria, it's Walter; I have your medical bags. Fresh batch." I receive no immediate answer; perhaps she doesn't appreciate the joke, "I'm entering." I do so, and it occurs to me that she's in her washroom. I set the tray down with a grunt, my back aching. My age is truly catching up to me in the most inconvenient times.

Her voice is slightly muffled through the door, "Sorry Walter; do you need anything from me?"

"Not at the moment; don't mind me, I'm just restocking your supply," though honestly, it's unnecessary from the looks of her fridge. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a ragged sigh. I know it's not my job to scold or reprimand her, but my patience wears thin tonight. "Miss Victoria; we've spoken about this. You need to _drink. _You can't keep flushing all your blood bags down the toilet; you're only hurting yourself in the process."

She doesn't answer me immediately, perhaps feeling attacked, and it makes me exhale rather sharply. I stand from crouched position, stepping away from the small fridge and snapping my old bones in the process. "Miss Victoria, did you hear me?" I turn to address her washroom door. It is ajar, and my eyes roam to the open crack; heavy steam rolls out, but I can still see everything reflected from the mirror's angle. I see her frivolous toiletries, her combat gloves, a lone toothbrush and most important of all, I see _her._

I see Seras Victoria… and she is topless.

The sight of a naked woman is not something new to me in the slightest. But with her, for some reason, I can't find my voice.

I won't lie to you, I think in that moment I was having a stroke.

"Yes, I heard you Walter," I doubt she has. Her cheeks are puffed, her eyes focused on her reflection and brow slightly furrowed. "I just… well, you know how I feel about the whole thing." I almost reel back as she cups her breast, lashes fanning her cheeks as if checking for something on that delicate mound of flesh. It is very painful to gulp. She kneads expectantly, pinching the area around her nipple; her facial expression suggests that whatever she's looking for is, unfortunately, nowhere to be found. She does the same to her other breast. She releases a sigh, and shakes her head, disappointed. I want to know what she's looking for.

Not once does she make an indication that she's aware of my invading her privacy, and I still haven't looked away; I can't fathom _why. _I was too engrossed in my loyalty to Hellsing to have an active sex life in my youth, but it wasn't like I was deprived either.

But there's something about _her _specifically that makes me unable to really look away.

She begins to rub lotion on herself, starting with the curvature of her neck and shoulders; she's meticulous in her task, and my fingers twitch at the sight. Even from here, I can see the two vacant scars Alucard left on her neck; they are stark against smooth skin. I almost don't hear her when she speaks, though, I only catch the end of it, "...I'm trying though, I swear. Cross my heart and kiss my elbow."

I blink at the ludicrous expression, "I beg your pardon?" My voice cracks just a bit, but I bring myself to. The serene, almost lax, expression on her face is so _human_, that I scarcely believe this girl is full-blooded vampire now. Vaguely, I wonder how Alucard would feel if he knew an old dog like me was playing _peeping tom _with his nineteen-year old apprentice; I get the feeling he'd be thoroughly entertained.

She stops her ministrations when I ask, and my breath hitches at the sight of her hands pausing just above her clavicle. Her swollen lips, which I notice are the same shade as her rosy nipples, quirk, and it's the most charming thing I have seen. "It's a reference to that one film, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_." She looks, for all the world to see, cheeky and content with herself. "I've always wanted to say that," her hands continue massaging.

I would be a fool to say I didn't find the girl attractive. She's in her prime youth, and she is a sight for sore and weary eyes. It's not hard to see that even Alucard appreciates that either. I somehow find my voice, loud and clear. "Yes… well, as long as you're trying. I won't have you wasting any more resources; blood is surprisingly scarce."

She doesn't answer me, but her smile grows a little wider. I may be… morally questionable, but I am still a proper Englishman, despite everything else. It's at this moment I choose to finally turn away, and there's something akin to shame creeping up on the sides of my neck. After I finish my task, all the while ignoring any impulse to look again, I begin to take my leave. "I'll leave you to it, Miss Victoria."

I don't expect her to step out of the washroom, but she has her pressed uniform on in record time. Color me impressed. Despite her undead state, she has a healthy flush to her cheeks, "Thank you Walter. I swear, I'll try and feed myself proper."

Right, I had forgotten about her self-imposed duty to show me gratitude to make up for the lack of yours. "As always, it's not a problem."

She doesn't challenge my words, but she has a slightly bemused look on her face, and she steps close to me. Before I can process anything, she has a non-gloved hand on my forehead, "Are you alright? You seem a little flushed..." she murmurs, red doe eyes blinking in concern.

For once in a very long time, I feel… _nervous. _How humiliating; I'm much too old to be feeling anything like this. I clear my throat and respectfully step away from her hand, "Must be my by blood pressure acting up. Nothing you need to worry yourself with, truly."

To be honest, I'm far less concerned with the morality of my actions and more with my own well being. Has this girl really elicited such a reaction from me? It's logical I would _look, _but it's far less so that I feel… _something_ when she's looking at me with those red eyes and pouted lips.

She slowly lowers her hands and blinks. "Well… If you say so." It almost sounds like she's disappointed and I'm convinced I'm finally going senile. Somehow, that truth seems less far fetched than her wanting something out of me. I take my leave promptly and I feel her eyes on me even as I close the door between us; that, I _know _I couldn't have imagined. I've been partnered up with Alucard on several occasions; my survival instincts have yet to be diminished.

I try to put the incident behind me.

It works marginally, but I power through the next few days. By then, I've convinced myself that what happened in the premises of her bedroom never happened. I am careful not to come in unprecedented; it's not like she's going to need more medical bags any time soon, anyway. I've made sure of it.

Your precious pet clad in crimson stops me in the hallways not long after, much to my chagrin.

"You look awfully tired; is your old age finally catching up to you, Angel of Death?" I get the feeling Alucard picks up on my slight mood, if his smile is anything to go by.

I am not young, calm and collected as I used to be. I am ashamed to say that I flinch, just barely, but enough to have Alucard peer from beneath his yellow shades. I take in a deep breath and turn away.

"I think it's been that way for a while now."

"Indeed." What conclusion he draws from me is unknown, but I'm not interested nor do I care.

I attempt to put up more of a barrier between her and I, as it should be. I am, after all, the butler and we work under the same employer. It's a strange pressure that I put myself under and looking back, I don't know what I was thinking.

Seras is no fool; she picks up on my behavior and it's obvious. Her gazes to me are out of concern and curiosity. I wouldn't be able to tell you the amount of times she'd try to approach my person; of course, I would find any other excuse to make myself scarce.

It works to an extent, but clearly not enough because she approaches me one morning as I tend to the gardens outside the manor, and it takes everything in me not to pinch the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge not to scold her on proper vampiric behaviors. "Good morning, Walter." I respond in kind. "You're up bright and early." She looks curiously to the watering pot in my hold.

It's hardly bright outside at all, so her red eyes are stark against everything, "As always. Was there something I could help you with, Miss Victoria? Are you having trouble sleeping?"

Perhaps my tone is too curt, because her eyes narrow just ever so. "...No, not really. Still not used to my sleeping habits, is all. I still can't bloody stand that coffin." She pouts as she says the last bit, no doubt still resenting me for the fact.

"Indeed. Well, I'd best be moving along. The weeds won't pull out themselves." In truth, I've always hated tending to the _weeds_, but I'll do anything to have her get the hint, as it were.

"Perhaps I could help?"

"I truly don't think that's a good idea. You're supposed to be resting, Miss Victoria, as all vampires should be at this time of day." No doubt she's certainly picked up on my rigid tone now, because her whole body stills and she looks slightly confused, if perhaps even a little hurt.

"...Oh."

After a moment of cursing myself for turning soft, I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "… But I suppose I could always use an extra hand. There are gardening gloves hanging in the tool shed, unless you don't mind your uniform gloves becoming soiled." The mere seconds it takes for this girl to become happy from looking dejected is enough to give me whiplash. It's hard to remain annoyed at someone who genuinely wants to talk with you. Lord knows I haven't encountered a kind and almost naive soul in nearly all my time working for Hellsing; it's refreshing, somehow...

"I appreciate that," she says, grin plastered on her face.

"Hm?"

"_Soiled. _I see what you did there," her humor, or lack thereof, elicits a soft smile from me, and I try to keep myself in check. We get to work not long after. Embarrassingly enough, when I bend down, the sound of my bones creaking is perfectly loud and clear, and with her enhanced hearing, I doubt she's missed it. I try not to groan in pain, but a sound does come out from my throat.

"Oh my, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes; don't worry I'm used to it. That sort of thing comes with being in your early seventies." My words don't convince her, and she gingerly places an arm around me. I don't let anyone invade my personal space in such a way, and part of me _wants _to push her away, as I don't take kindly of being reminded _constantly _on how old I am. More than anything though, I want her _off _because her skin is sending jolts through my arm and down my spine. This is unprecedented, silly and inappropriate.

But with her strength and those concerned eyes, I find it hard to do anything else other than accept her help.

"Why don't you sit for a bit, Walter?"

I scoff, "Please don't speak absurdities, Miss Victoria. I assure you, I'm fine and well. Just give a moment."

She raises her brow at me, "With all due respect, anyone who isn't blind can see you're kind of in pain." I'm offended, and my momentary anger makes my lip tremble; an involuntary gesture that angers me even more. She catches on to this and backpedals., her tone soft and kind. "I don't mean you're incapable, Walter; I know you aren't. But a young and very capable young lady is at your disposal," she winks at me, and I try to ignore what it does to me and what those words could mean in another universe, another time, "We'll keep it on the down-low from Master Integra, yes? Just sit, relax, and I'll get it done."

My slight ire seeps from me as quickly as it came, and I am left with a hanging head. How can I say no? "Well, alright. Have at it then." Her victorious grin makes my loss very worthwhile. She even fetches me a beverage. As she picks the weeds, she talks about her assignments, people she's met at Hellsing, her day-to-day routine, and some gossip among the staff. It's the most boring tripe I've ever heard and I have never been more genuinely entertained.

Somehow, this becomes a routine.

Every morning she meets me by the gardens, hears my weary bones and asks me if I'm alright, but goes ahead and sits me down to do the work anyway.

How she got me going along with it is still a mystery to me, even now.

The third day in, her voice is loud and about, clearly entertained by her own story of a joke she's told. She can't remember the punchline. Quietly, I sip on my lemonade, and I try not to feel guilt from looking at her topless through her own washroom.

"...disgusting bloke."

I almost choke on the liquid and come to. "I beg your pardon?"

She is unaware that I had tuned out her dribble and focused on her soft voice like one would with music. I only caught the last bit of her sentence, and hoped that she didn't somehow gain mind-reading as one of her vampiric abilities this soon into her new life. Dirt cakes her cheek and her lips are in a pout. "I know, right? It's bloody awful; such audacity! Can you believe Steadler would have the bloody gall to ask me out, so shamelessly? In front of Fergason, too!"

The name rings familiar to me immediately. I've noticed the young man, as well; he did have a presumptuous air about him that no doubt would be his undoing, in due time. But her admission bothers me slightly and I can't help to ask, "Has he now? I'm assuming he's bothered you before, then?" She looks solemn and my fingers are itching to have a talk with this young man. This feeling of protectiveness is foreign to me when it's not with you.

"That would be an understatement. He doesn't give me the time of day; he constantly picks on me, and ostracizes me from the team. I guess I could handle that, but then he turns around and tries to come _onto _me like a piece of meat."

"Hm. Sounds like he fancies you."

She looks thoroughly disgusted as I feel, and I try to ignore how that pleases me. "He asked me if I ever wish for a man to warm my bed." At the confession, her cheeks burn, though from anger or humiliation is subjective.

I'm not ashamed to say, at least in my head, that I'm curious on her answer to such an inquiry. "And what did you respond with?" I half hope she'd induced violence; knowing her, though, it's far fetched.

Her lips curl into a scorn, and she pulls the weeds harder. She shrugs forcefully. "I didn't. I just… walked away," sighing as if disappointed with herself, her shoulders sag, "I've never had the backbone for this kind of thing. I'm _used _to being picked on; that kind of thing comes with being the only female in your police squadron. And a _cadet _one at that." I had nearly forgotten that at Cheddar, she'd lost everything. She lost those she no doubt addressed as her family.

I pity her, but not ironically or mercilessly. I genuinely do.

I ask her why she hasn't spoken to you about it, but she doesn't give me a straight answer; from this, I realize that she doesn't exactly _dislike _you, but she is intimidated by you. She is too embarrassed enough to make a fuss about it; normally, I'd wager this is how young ladies get taken advantage of, but she's not quite human anymore, and she has more power and confidence than she gives herself credit for.

She continues, "But it's just… I don't know, I'm alone now. Like always; it's like a bloody curse. I try to be kind, but I only get my arse bitten for it." That's not true, and I tell her such. She shrugs and remains quiet, as if tired of the subject.

But I don't let it rest. "Remember, Miss Victoria, you very well have the capacity to stand up for yourself. If you don't want this young man bothering you, you march up and tell him so. If things get heated, remember you are superior to him in every possible way. _Literally._" She smiles softly at my words, and I hope this means she will follow through. "Besides, you can and most certainly will, if you so desire, be with someone who's mature in their behavior to court you." I entertain my mind by pretending, for just one second, that I could theoretically be that someone.

How silly of me, right?

At that, she looks up. "You really think someone would ever be genuinely interested in me?"

"It's not a matter of what I think, Miss Victoria, it's a _fact._" I honestly mean it. It wouldn't be hard for this girl to get a man wrapped around her finger like a love-stricken fool.

I'm the proof, after all.

Her eyes flicker to something I can't decipher, and her smile grows wider, "I've never really thought about it. Thank you, Walter."

"Of course."

Her gaze lingers me for a moment before she turns back to her task, now slower and methodical in pace. "He asked me out to the cinema. Apparently there's some eldritch horror that's taken the box office by storm."

"I see. I'm assuming you'll humor him just to have a free watch?"

My doubts are confirmed when she scoffs in distaste. "I'd rather be bloody taken by the Cheddar priest again," she shakes her head, "What I mean is… would you like to accompany me?"

Oh.

My lack of response must have worried her, because she's looking to me like she's regretted asking me.

I clear my throat, and without really thinking, I respond hastily, "It would be my pleasure to escort you to the cinema, Miss Victoria."

Remember what I said about her giving me whiplash? This would also be one of those moments. She breathes a delicate laugh behind her hand. "I don't mean to escort me, Walter, I mean to _accompany _and watch the film with me."

_...Oh._

But she's already taken my answer as a yes, regardless.

I have no time to take back my words, no time to decipher where my agreement came from; blast it all, I don't even have time to surmise the fact that I've just agreed to an outing with Seras Victoria, of all people.

Surprisingly enough, I hardly remember much of it; all I remember is that she looked… _happy._ Why she would be happy going out on a perfectly late night evening with someone who could very well be her grandfather's age is beyond my level of understanding. But, despite my age, despite my years worth of fighting armies of the undead and the supernatural alike, it doesn't stop me from developing anxiousness in my chest. I haven't been on a date in over… well… I hardly remember. Probably when I was in my twenties.

Remember when I requested that evening off so I could go out and purchase some supplies for the weapon's lab? Indeed, I lied for this very reason.

No, I don't regret it. Neither of us did.

As it turns out, I had worked up a fuss over nothing.

To think I was worried about the outing as a proper date makes me laugh; _of course _it isn't a date. She's donning casual wear proper for her age-group; I'm old and grey, so I have an excuse to dress in my usual attire, save for the blue vest. The film makes us laugh instead of giving us a scare, but we try to be considerate to those around us, and so we breath out our silent chuckles throughout most of it.

It becomes harder to concentrate when I notice her hand comes into contact with my arm. Every time there's a 'scary' scene or a jumpscare, she lightly hits my arm before doubling over in snorting giggles. She does this several times before, eventually, she has the gall to slap my knee. The time after that, she lets it linger there. I stiffen without meaning to. I do believe she feels this, and unfortunately, lets her hand fall away. I mourn the contact momentarily, until her forearm lands next to mine on the armrest. I dare to take a peek at her from my peripheral and I realize she doesn't even look my way. Not once. Am I reading too much into this? Am I going mad? I clear my throat, immediately catching her attention. Her red eyes are stark against the darkness of the room, the film playing before us merely background noise. I say nothing, my tongue utterly tied for words; she takes action before I can, and leans towards me. I freeze.

Curse this girl.

And my heart? It would be ridiculous to even say just how fast it'd been beating; I do think I barely managed to escape death when she was around me. The noise of the film fades the closer she comes to me; inadvertently, I feel her ample chest touch my arm, and though the proper thing to do would be to immediately withdraw my arm, I don't. Her lips are near the lobe of my ear, and she begins to whisper: "I'm sorry; did you want the arm rest for yourself?"

It takes me a moment to process that, and I almost ask her to repeat herself. "...It's a-alright," I clear my throat, and speak a little bit clearer, "It's quite alright. I… could just remove my arm." To my surprise, she doesn't let me; she pats my wrist, firmly but gently, leaving me unable to move.

I would be thankful that it's more or less dark, until I remember she's a vampire. But she only gives me a very sly smile and shakes her head. "I don't mind." I am robbed of my chance to answer when she turns her attention back to the screen. She doesn't let me move, and though a small part of me is slightly thrilled, I'm uneasy.

I try to focus on the film, instead.

It's hard to do when she's rubbing circular motions with her finger on my knuckles. I inhale sharply, and it's enough to get her attention. Her gaze is wide and seemingly innocent; enough to make me question my sanity again. Like a fool, I smile, signaling that nothing is amiss. It pleases her and she turns her attention back to the screen. In this moment, I am angry with her. Does she know what she's doing? Is she doing it purposefully? Does she take me for a fool? My lower lip starts to tremble; it's such an… _elderly _person thing to do and it infuriates me even more.

Perhaps in that moment I had stiffened up even more, or I must have snapped my spine up, or _something, _because she turns to me again. _What's wrong _she mouths to me, but I'm afraid I can't sport a smile to placate her this time.

Not that I get the chance.

A sudden and peculiar scream erupts from the film, and it rips her attention from me; this is where I notice something strange. She has stiffened, as if on alert; surely she hasn't been _scared _has she? Suddenly, she stands up from her seat, and without so much as a word, she leaves down the steps. I am left alone, confused and looking to her retreating form. I turn back to the film. There is a very explicit scene; a woman is being violated. Immediately, I already know what has happened, I was the one who did the background check on this girl, after all.

Needless to say, she needs the comfort. I am not so insensitive or that level of cruel quite yet to ignore such a thing. Immediately, I step out to follow her.

I find her seated near the car, as if she had contemplated on outright leaving the premises altogether, but then remembered she had company. Despite what she is, she looks nothing more than what feels; a vulnerable creature. Anyone would think nothing is too amiss; just a lovely young lady huddling in her burgundy trench coat from the cold, perhaps waiting for someone, or perhaps was abandoned.

She looks nothing at all to what I'm used to from vampires; I don't think I ever really _saw _her as a true vampire, if I were to be honest, despite what would happen later. She's far too kind, too doe-like and even forcefully genuine, if naive. I half expect her to have been crying; she proves me wrong when I approach her and see that her visage isn't even wet. But she looks torn; broken, almost.

And I've never been the best for comforting others; not even to myself, but I try.

I quietly sit myself next to her, not too close though. I contemplate whether I should put my hand on her shoulder, but I dismiss the idea. She's staring ahead, watching something that surely lies only in the depths of her own mind and somewhere that's only for her to see. Her eyes are, for once, not full of joy or kindness or even naivete. They are vacant and hollow and it doesn't suit her in the slightest.

I speak softly after a few moments of silence, "Would you like to talk about it?" She sniffs and shakes her head. I don't push the issue, and I attempt a different approach, "Would you like me to give you a moment?"

She stays so still for a few moments that for a second I think she hasn't heard me. Slowly, she shakes her head. And this time, when she reaches for my hand, I offer no resistance. She buries her head against her forearm, which rests on her knees. She's trying to make herself smaller. The noise from the vehicles passing near us don't prevent even my old ears to hear a sob rip from her throat, her back rippling with the movement. I squeeze her hand, hating the contrast between our hands; my live spotted and wrinkled hand are sin against her smooth skin and tidy nails.

It's almost like she senses my distaste, and perhaps she does, because the second I think about pulling away, she squeezes.

I don't try to escape.

Eventually, our conjoined hands part. I get the feeling we both mourn the physical contact.

When we arrive back to the manor, I walk her to her chambers; I'm very aware at the lack of a certain presence, but as I've said, I have no care for your pet. It's quiet, but it's comforting; I can't read her mind, but I have confidence she's overcome herself.

"Good night Miss Victoria," she turns to me with eyes that are, thankfully, back to their former radiance. My chest is relieved from the weight that has settled on it; for once, I can't help but smile in return.

"I had a very fun time, Walter. I mean it; _thank you_." She doesn't mean the movie, I know this.

"Likewise, Miss Victoria."

She tilts her head at me and quirks her lips if I've said something funny. Is she perhaps expecting a good night kiss? No, I'm much too old to be humoring such a thing. But she surprises me when she takes a step forward; for all my reflexes and combat skills, she somehow manages to catch me by surprise. I am gathered with both her arms in an embrace; she looks much lighter than where her actual physical capabilities lie. She even manages to lift my feet off the ground.

"Oof!" I am not proud to admit that she has quite the hold. I am let go after a moment, her face dangerously close to mine. She's almost leaning on me, and I would have found comfort in her scent. She's undead, for all intents and purposes; she couldn't be any colder, but she warms me.

This time, I almost pass out because she pecks the corners of my lips, but she's already stepping away before I've even realized it. And she's giving me that same, mischievous smile from before. Like she's harboring a secret. Perhaps she is. I inhale sharply, and her smile only grows a little wider, a little bit flirtatious, even.

Her voice is low and sing-song, "Goodnight Walter," and then the door is closed in front of my face. For once in over fifty years, I am speechless. I can only hold my hand close to where her lips were and I wonder for the hundredth time if I truly am senile. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, if I were to get more imagery like this.

Eventually, I am in my own chambers… and I can't sleep.

For some reason, I become increasingly aware of my age more as the seconds pass. I could have sworn there was a time where once, _just once, _I didn't have to take my time in positioning myself to sleep because of my back pain. There was a time where the dryness of my skin didn't scratch against the sheets. There was also a time where my hairline was lower, more centered and my hair was jet black rather than a dark withering gray. There was also a time where my lips didn't tremble when I felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. There was a time where I didn't even need my monocle.

But you know part of this story, don't you? You know I've detested my horrid, aging vessel. But you never truly _understood _it; you'll only see clearly when you live as long as I did.

And yet, somehow, the only thoughts that I am able to concentrate on are _her_; images from how I saw her that evening, waist-up stark naked against the shiny reflection from the mirror. My fingers twitch and they move on their own accord at these intrusive thoughts. These are mine and mine alone. I feel shame, but I feel vindictive against myself; why am I harming myself? Have I truly reached an age where thoughts of being with such a lovely young woman is deemed taboo? But this only a front; I am more concerned with _her _thoughts, _her _feelings. I am angry at myself for allowing myself to feel this way in the first place. I groan and squirm; I haven't done this in years and it's a foreign thing.

Oh my, do you _not _want to hear this part? Didn't you order me to tell you _everything? _Heh.

I'm already hard, but the feelings in my chest near overwhelm me; guilt, anger, anxiety, and so many other things are all making their presence known in the form of a headache, but I don't let it deter me. More than anything, I am _bitter_; my movements are getting harsher, and the pain is almost euphoric. I make move for the nearest pillow, using that as a target instead, as I am too tired to try to look for lotion or tissues. She doesn't need to know. The thought of keeping my masturbation a secret from her makes me writhe even more. She would deem me as disgusting; I am no better in this moment than the priest who tried to rape her in Cheddar.

If only I was forty-five years younger, I would have shown her what a real man could do. I would have courted her, enamored her, taken care of her. I would be worthy of her kindness, worthy of the hand that she tried to hold, and worthy of the affections she's been giving me. The images running through my mind are more vivid, more real, but I let out no noise despite the sound-proof walls of my vast bedroom. I imagine in place of the pillow, it's her; Seras would be arching against me, welcoming my advances, and I would take her to heaven even if I myself couldn't reach her. I breathe out her name, and it's the memory of her hand in mine that sets me over the edge.

My piss poor venture had only taken three minutes, and already I feel exhausted. I am grateful for the pillow not actually being the real thing; I could never satisfy her as I am now. To say I am guilty or regretful wouldn't necessarily be truthful, but I do feel shame. Only boys commit such an act; lusting over some unrequited affection. I feel soiled, but it's not me I care about, it's _her._

It's always her.

How would she feel knowing what I just did? Would she look at me in disgust? Yes, I'm sure she would. I run a hand through my hair, now loose thanks to my… activity. My blood pressure is through the roof, but I have no energy to wash or move about; my lids droop on their own accord.

The moment I do, however, I feel lips against mine. Something prevents me from opening my eyes, and I realize I must be hallucinating while paralyzed. They are cold, though soft; but that scent of hers is irrefutable. I feel hands roam the sides of my face, slowly, agonizingly; she whispers something in my ear, but I can't hear. She kisses me again, this time traveling to my throat, but I am physically incapable of saying anything

This has to be a dream; it can't be real.

But she whispers in my ear again, _"Walter," _she says my name like she's coaxing something out of me. I want to give it to her, whatever she's asking for. She can take it all, _"Walter, why didn't you just tell me?" _She continues kissing me, and the most I can do is moan just ever so from the throat. I'm too old for this madness; this needs to _stop. _She does not, and the more she presses herself against me, the more of my sanity I leave behind. She is my _Delilah_, and I can't help but succumb.

After that, it all fades into blackness. When I wake in the morning, her scent is all over me, all over my sheets and all over my chambers. My heart is thundering angrily, and I wonder if I have died. Eventually, I rise again. I tell myself that last night was nothing more than a momentary lapse of sanity, a preview of dementia. Something. _Anything _else, at all.

That is, until I run into her in the hallway. She gives me that same deviant smile and I am rooted to the spot, "Hello Walter; did you have a good night's rest?"

And so, I make a decision.


End file.
